I had to hide it in a drawer, as toddler-Sam visibly SHIED whenever he had to pass it. He was SO convinced of its inherent evil that he convinced Bagel, who started submissively genuflecting when he passed the pig in much the same way he genuflects and ducks sideways from cats.
DIGRESSION: Schubert taught him that cats have a POINTY end, and should one jam one’s face in the seemingly harmless butt end for a friendly getting to know you sniff, the POINTY end comes for you. Bagel genuflects for Mango, a fellow who is not half so invested in his own personal Dignity as Schubert. Mango is an easy going sort who has allowed Ansley to butt sniff with no more then gently lifted reproving eyebrow, but the bloody things that Schubert taught us ….they cannot be untaught. This, my friends, is LEGACY. /Digression
The Black Pig, at our house, is the worst kind of harbinger, the worst omen, the shadow-lurker, the eater of hope. Through a good piece of November and all of December, I felt him around every corner, saw him from the corner of my eye in the shadows by the fireplace.
But now Dad seems to be in a really good place. His recovery is slow. But steady. A steady movement in all the right directions.
I think The Black Pig’s gone for now. I think he got cowed out.
Cowed out? Yes, that’s a thing. When Sam was three, he had an imaginary friend. It was a cow. It was a cow named ONTOG who lived in the garden shed. Ontog was preternaturally heroic and brave for a cow, and also a boy. But still a cow. Not a Bull. A BOY cow of wisdom and mightiness.
Cows, in our family lexicon, are good. We often associate the brightest things in our life with cows, as good ness and cows are inextricably cow-lated. For example, we call Scott’s iPad—which we all love and which we all fuss to hold on car trips because it has NINE KINDS of Angry Birds and Cut the Rope—we call it The Moo Cow. I got a Google Pad with MINI Angry Birds, and it is called Mini Moo.
Also, BAGEL! Bagel is the dumbest of all our animals—possibly EVER, possibly even including Spotty the Newt. His brain activity is best expressed by a low hum bouncing up into a high pitched hum when people drop food. DUMB DUMBD DUMB, but also the goodest in his good heart.
His nicknames include Moo Moo, Mr. Moo, Mooly and, perhaps my favorite, he is often called Cattle. Sometimes even The Cattle, as if he is SO good, his goodness cannot be expressed by a single cow.
Cows in this house stand for all that is right and kind, and I am moderately hopeful that we are going to have a Cow New Year.
I’ve decided to be gentle and Cowful to myself, at any rate—my New Year’s Resolution was to NOT declare a bunch of unreasonably strict resolutions in public and then bust them, one by one, in a spectacular flame-out.
But I am going to finish the ORGANIZATION SERIES! Just as soon as I get organized. HA! No seriously, that’s already started and should be done next week. And I know I owe you a little something horrifying, mortally humiliating, and Gangnammy. That’s in the works – filming scheduled for the end of the month.
What was yours? I’ve missed you! I feel like I have missed a whole six weeks of everything. ARE YOU COWFUL? Or Pig-fested? WHAT’S UP, Buttercups, and what did YOU resolve?